


Eyes Wide Shut

by mjartrod



Category: Muse
Genre: Belldom - Freeform, Breathplay, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Group Sex, M/M, Multi, Religious Content, S&M, Smut, Threesome, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:10:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1465507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjartrod/pseuds/mjartrod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt receives an invitation for a party he will not want to miss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story was first posted online in Nov 2010.   
> All characters and events in this story are fictional, even those based on real people and material (having been altered, added or left out for dramatic purposes). I do not own Muse.

_Xacobeo Festival, Santiago de Compostela, Spain  
Friday, 27th August, 2010_ 

  
  
Dom was knackered.   
  
The drummer observed himself in the bathroom’s mirror, backstage. Glassy grey eyes stared back at him silently from the fogged up surface, heavy with dark shadows underneath, giving away his exhaustion. In the past, he'd taken it all in his stride: disturbed sleeping patterns due to jetlag, hangovers, the physical demands of their live performances. But at thirty-two, the days when the methodical application of moisturiser, a fancy haircut and a hip outfit didn’t cut it seemed to come more and more often. He sighed and closed his eyes, revelling in the quietness surrounding him.  
  
The truth was that they had exactly eight days off until the next gig, in Manchester. He’d made no plans in advance for the week and now an empty vacuum of seemingly endless free time lay ahead of him. And without the prospect of anything exciting to look forward to and keep him going, there was nothing left to do but to give in to his body’s demands as extreme fatigue set in.   
  
Maybe it was true. Maybe he  _was_ addicted to touring.   
  
He never quite knew what to do with himself on their breaks. Of course, he had friends, family to catch up with, a woman or two waiting for him who could,  _theoretically_ , present a temptation to finally settle down a bit and create some roots. He had other interests and it wasn’t like he stayed at home watching paint dry whenever he wasn’t on the road., but nothing else was quite as fulfilling for him. He tried to compensate by travelling for pleasure, visiting Matt wherever he happened to be at the time; he'd even bought a house in sodding France so he could have an excuse to hop on and off a plane.   
  
It wasn’t the same.  
  
Touring was his life. Travelling and being on stage were a part of him. The anxiety right before taking the stage, the deafening roar of the crowd, the flashing, blinding lights, the pulsing adrenaline that engulfed him. The rush of always having somewhere else to be, a plane to catch, a tour bus that was ready to leave. A city stayed behind, while another awaited their arrival. Everything scheduled to the minute while at the same time providing him with so much freedom.   
  
Chris and Matt claimed they didn’t understand him; Dom knew better.   
  
Often overheard grunting about demanding schedules that interfered too much with family time, Chris could be a hypocritical bastard, in the drummer’s opinion. Whenever it was time to book tours, the family man never opened his mouth to raise an objection, not even when he was specifically addressed regarding the subject. He quietly accepted it all. And Matt... Matt still tried to fool himself that he could actually have a life outside the music and the band. Vying for as many days off as possible, while at the same time trying to book as many gigs as he could, sometimes it seemed like he wanted to defy the laws of time. All to soothe and appease the storm of notes inside his head. Matt’s drunken, hazy tirades in the past had made Dom fear for his friend more than once, wondering what would happen if instead of music, Matt began hearing voices.   
  
Unlike his band mates, Dom was honest with himself. He didn’t make excuses about his desire to be on the road - he admitted it and he embraced it. And it was shit when he had too many days off without any proper plans for filling them.  
  
Rubbing his face wearily a final time, Dom left the bathroom and went to sprawl out on the hard couch in the dressing room. The place was empty, save for the drummer, although he knew Dom Anderson would inevitably be around soon to gather everyone for the trip to the airport. At his feet on the floor, his bag was zipped shut, his few indispensable possessions packed away. Always ready to go.   
  
Not everyone was all packed, though; he recognised several of Matt’s belongings scattered around. The frontman had been acting odd the whole day, edgy. At the gig he had been abnormally stiff, which was strange considering how relaxed he’d been for the past few months, on and off stage. It amazed Dom how much Matt’s disposition could change depending on whether he was getting laid regularly or not... Perhaps something had changed in that department again? He did mention he was going to Devon for the weekend and not London, as would be expected.   
  
And speak of the devil...  
  
“My phone, where’s my phone?!”   
  
Matt burst into the room like a small tornado, hair mussed and sticking in all directions. He was flushed and sweaty, although he’d left the shower not 20 minutes before. A less perceptive person might be mistaken into thinking it was the result of the scorching heat of an August night in Spain.   
  
“Did you see my phone? Dom, you wanker, where’d you put my phone? It’s not fucking funny!”  
  
Dom simply lifted an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. Why the fuck should he know where Matt placed - or misplaced, in this case - his things? The fidgety frontman glared at him for a few seconds, before spinning on his heel to scan the room again. The drummer yawned ostentatiously, his head hitting the back of the couch as he listened to Matt pawing through his things, until a low muttering announced he had no doubt found what he’d been searching for.   
  
Opening an eye idly, Dom’s attention was inadvertently caught by a blood red envelope on the floor between him and Matt. It definitely wasn’t there before, so it must have been disturbed from among Matt’s belongings. The antiquated wax seal was particularly eye catching. He half snorted; fans always came up with the weirdest shit. Matt didn’t make a habit of keeping letters from fans, though. On occasion, he’d wear something which had been offered to him until the novelty wore off (which usually happened quite quickly when it came to Matt), but it had been awhile since he took home fan mail.   
  
He glanced at his band mate, the singer still fiddling with his iPhone, and then back at the envelope. For some reason, it piqued his curiosity. Bending over slowly, he reached out and grabbed it off the floor. It read Matthew Bellamy, in elegant script on the front. There was a card inside, which he took out - thick parchment interwoven with golden thread, the contents written in a classically stylish font. Dom was preparing himself to read promises of undying love from an eager female fan, but his smile faltered and was replaced by an intrigued expression as he read.  
  
  
  
 _“Mr. Matthew Bellamy,  
  
You have been invited to the festivities that takes place on the 29th of August in Arbo, Galicia, Spain.   
Location: 42° 6'54.45"N 8°18'55.26"O.   
Time: 22.00.   
  
Your presence is essential and would be greatly appreciated. Confirmation of whether you are bringing a guest or not is requested.   
  
The password for admission will be forwarded to you on the day.  
  
The dress code-“_  
  
  
  
“What the blithering  _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”   
  
The card and envelope were snatched out of Dom’s hands and the drummer winced at a sharp pain that flared to life in one of his fingers.   
  
“Jesus!”   
  
Sucking on the thin slash caused by a paper cut in utter bafflement, Dom watched as Matt hurriedly stuffed the envelope into a side pocket of his bag with his back turned, his motions abrupt and snappish. The violent reaction hadn’t exactly lessened Dom's curiosity.  
  
“29th of August is the day after tomorrow, isn’t it?”   
  
Matt didn’t reply, thin lips set in a tight line.   
  
He was hiding something.   
  
The hair on the back of Dom’s neck stood on end and his blood began rushing madly through his veins, alighting every cell in his body, energy pooling as he recalled what the card said. ‘ _Festivities’_ , was that it? Which required a password? That was definitely not a letter from a fan. A wide grin stretched across his face.   
  
“You’re not going to Devon this weekend, are you, Matt?”   
  
“Mind your own fucking business, Howard.”  
  
He continued observing Matt. Watching as he grabbed a pair of shoes and tried to fit them into his bag. “Where are you going, Matt?” Dom licked his lips, the question going unanswered. “You’ve been odd as fuck today. Not that you're known for your grasp of normalcy, anyway, but...” He noticed how Matt paused for a split second, eyes narrowing. “You’re going to some party that nobody knows about, something that needs a bloody password -”  
  
“Shut it.”  
  
“Maybe I should ask a certain blonde American actress. She’d tell me all about it and get me an invitation, too.”   
  
Matt’s back instantly stiffened, his hands stilling. “You bloody well won’t,” he hissed. “And if you mention a word of this to anyone, you’ll be black and blue for the rest of the week.”   
  
Dom considered his reply for a few seconds before speaking again, drawling out the words lazily. “N’aww, did she dump your arse already? Knew it wouldn’t last, fuck knows what she saw in you to start with. Told you the shiny suits could cause eye damage.”  
  
It worked. Matt twirled around, index finger pointed accusingly in his direction, his face red with anger. “Stop stirring shit up, you spiteful fucker! I know what you’re trying to do! Cunting bastard, reading other people’s mail!”   
  
“Thought it was from a fan.”  
  
“It had my  _name_ on it!”  
  
“Oh, really?” Dom grinned. “Since when did you get so uptight about this sort of shit? You’re the nosey fucker who’s always going through other people’s things.”  
  
“I don’t open your mail!”   
  
“'Course you don’t. Unless I’m not looking.”  
  
“Fuck. Off!”  
  
Dom snickered. “Come on, Matt, 'fess up. What’s this event with the posh invitation all about? Kate doesn’t know about it, I can smell it. You're seeing someone else and not telling me?” He found that unlikely, but anything to needle Matt and force him to spit it out. “Wonder what she’d say if I casually mentioned this to her...”  
  
“It’s none of her fucking business!” Matt jabbed a furious finger at him again. “And neither is it yours! So stop acting like a fucking twat!”  
  
“Come on, Matt, I’m serious! What’s with all the secrecy?”  
  
Matt inhaled sharply before muttering through gritted teeth. “I promised I wouldn’t tell anyone. It’s just a fucking party, a private party with people who don’t want their names getting out. That’s it. Now fuck off and leave me alone.”   
  
Dom stared at Matt with interest for another moment, the twitchy man turning his back on him again. “We’re talking about an exclusive party with famous names, which has to be kept totally secret, are we? An adults' party, of course.” Matt had finally zipped his bag closed and was gulping from a bottle of water when Dom continued, “You’re going to an orgy, aren’t you?”  
  
Matt choked, hit by a coughing fit, and the bottle slipped through his fingers. Arms flailing in his haste to try and catch it, he ended up leaping backwards to avoid getting wet, nearly tripping over his own feet as Dom laughed.   
  
“You are! You’ve been invited to some orgy for rich and famous people, you sneaky bastard! Christ, who got you in? Anyone worth shagging there?”  
  
To his credit, Matt didn’t attempt to deny it. He wiped the water off his chin with the back of his hand with as much dignity as he could muster. “I’m not telling you anything and you’ll keep your trap shut if you know what’s good for you.”  
  
“I’m going with you.”  
  
Matt barked out a laugh at that, smirked at Dom and then flung his bag over his shoulder, heading for the exit.   
  
“I’m serious, Matt!” Dom rushed to stand, indignant at Matt’s quick dismissal. “You can’t leave me out of this! I saw what the card said, you can take a guest.”  
  
“I’m not taking you anywhere with me.”  
  
The blond blocked Matt’s way out of the dressing room. “Why the hell not?!”  
  
Matt's eyes narrowed dangerously. “Because you’re a goddamn wanker,” he tried to dodge Dom without success, the drummer following each of his steps, “who reads other people’s mail.”  
  
Dom put his hands on his hips now, suffused with outrage. “I can’t believe you! You’re always the first person I tell when I’ve got a good tip on a new place to go, even when I know you probably won’t come with me. And this is how you pay me back. Cheers, mate.”  
  
“Oh, cut the emotional blackmail crap!”   
  
“It’s true! Besides, when’s the last time we did something like this?”  
  
Matt’s shoulders tensed a little at the implication and he avoided Dom’s eye. “That was a long time ago.”  
  
And that was why Dom was so desperate to go. This was exactly what he needed, the perfect antidote for the crippling tiredness that threatened to take him over. It was like a blast from the past. He couldn’t believe that Matt, of all people, was denying him this.   
  
“When did things between us change so much, Matt? What happened to bonding like we used to, moving back to London together... all that shit we talked about the other day with Chris? Was that all bollocks?”   
  
There was a pang of genuine sadness in Dom’s words. It had been a recurrent theme of conversations lately, part of it in light of Matt’s improved spirits and Chris’s elation at rediscovering so much after overcoming his alcohol problems. They weren’t crazy twenty somethings anymore; they had grown up together, but also inevitably grown apart some, and they were looking forward to strengthening their ties once more. They were friends, first and foremost, and they wanted that to be their priority, always.  
  
It hurt Dom more than he cared to admit that Matt was hiding something so huge from him, something that in the past would be an excuse to have fun together.  
  
Matt had his eyes firmly glued to the floor and Dom felt all previous enthusiasm draining away. The singer was not going to give in and it was simply sheer luck that Dom had even learnt about the party in the first place. He sidestepped his band mate, swallowing uncomfortably as he bent over to pick up his own luggage.  
  
“Call Anderson and tell him you’re staying with me.”   
  
Dom’s head shot up. “What?”  
  
“Call Anderson,” Matt repeated without looking at him, “and tell him you’re staying with me. We’re not going to the airport.”   
  
Dom grinned, chastising himself briefly for taking it so personally that Matt would have plans that he didn’t want Dom to be a part of. “Great! We’re going back to the hotel, then?”   
  
“Oh, no.” Matt opened the door for Dom with a smile now, the drummer pulling his mobile out. “I’ve got a car waiting outside. We’re driving to this place tonight.”  
  


***

  
  
Arbo, Spain, was less than 100 miles away from Santiago de Compostela, an easy enough distance to drive, even for someone like Matt, who never seemed to find himself sitting behind the steering wheel these days. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d driven his own car in London.   
  
He knew it was no coincidence that with so many choices the world over to hold the ‘meeting’, they had chosen a small Spanish village that made Teignmouth seem like a bustling metropolitan city. It was the most convenient location for Matt that weekend, considering the band’s tour schedule. As the newest member of the exclusive club, he was supposed to be  _accommodated_ , or so he was told protocol dictated. More than once he had wondered with a stab of anticipation what other benefits such status would entail.   
  
The invitation had come through the hand of none other than Nic Cester. A birthday gift, the Jet frontman had said with a cheeky smile the night of Matt's 32nd birthday, in Como. Matt read and re-read the card and understood little, except that he had in his hands an invitation for a party. And then Nic explained the rest. He hadn’t given it much thought in the days that followed, the hangover and other things occupying his mind making him forget about it, until he eventually found the envelope in an inside pocket of his jacket. By then, he had disregarded it as a prank by Nic and paid it no more attention. Until he’d gotten an e-mail from the Australian a month ago, asking him about the proposal again.  
  
Dom let out a snore and Matt glanced at the passenger seat, the headlights of a car going by in the opposite direction hitting the slumbering blond, his mouth slightly open and head drooped towards Matt. He had been looking ragged as hell lately, it was no wonder he 'd dozed off as soon as they got in the rental BMW. Matt hadn’t been counting on this. He hadn’t excluded the chance of telling Dom later on about it all and maybe trying to get him an invitation, too, after he’d seen what it was like; but he had fancied going alone the first time. Sneaky bastard had to find the card and read between the lines... It had been Matt’s fault, though, he should have been more careful and he knew there was little he could hide from Dom. Especially on a day when he’d been stressing over the logistics of going and desperately hoping he could be inconspicuously absent for the whole weekend.  
  
He glanced at the GPS device on the dashboard and then lit a cigarette (just the one, he told himself), more to keep himself busy during the long journey along the dimly lit Spanish roads, than a real need for nicotine. Nic had been scarce on details. Matt didn’t have a clue who else was part of the club and he didn’t know whether he was expected to be a mere spectator or an active participant, though he was assuming he wasn’t there just to watch the others. He didn’t know what the vibe there was, what sort of people or what sort of scenario he was going to find. He was going in only with the knowledge of what his own boundaries were, the result of his share of experiences over the years, and safe in Nic’s promise that he didn’t have to partake in anything he wasn’t comfortable with; the only thing he had to do was to be absolutely discreet and never reveal a word of it to anyone.   
  
It was the mystery, the furtiveness, the salacious thrill and the unpredictability of the whole thing that, added together, were like a beacon to him. All of which had been missing from his life for awhile. He didn’t want to deny himself anything at this period in his life, but to indulge himself in all that was available to him.   
  
Six months ago he had been an empty shell, wallowing in self-pity, drowning in angst and unable to clear his head, as if someone had switched off the lights and left him to desolation in utter darkness. Weighed down by grief, assailed by indifference and apathy, every attempt at recovery failing, he had reached his lowest ebb, seriously doubting he would stand up straight and feel happiness ever again. But here he was now: carefree, having a great summer and celebrating the simple fact that he finally  _could_ enjoy life again.   
  
Fucked if he wasn’t going to grab the chance for a night full of the promise of no strings-attached fun.  
  


***

  
  
  
Dom was jostled awake as the car stopped at the side of the road. Matt was spreading a map over the steering wheel and switching between staring at it and the GPS, brow furrowed.   
  
A landscape of mountains dotted with lone lights that sparkled like diamonds in the darkness greeted them ahead. The road seemed to lead in that direction, a bridge to be crossed over an unseen river beforehand. According to a large sign right before the bridge, they were on the border with Portugal.  
  
“We’re lost?” Dom yawned, stretching. It was almost three in the morning.  
  
“No, it’s here. Just can’t find the bloody hotel. But it’s here somewhere.”  
  
Ten minutes later, they were stepping into the dimly lit foyer of a small but attractive hotel located on the Portuguese side of the river. A middle-aged lady who spoke English with a thick accent received them warmly. The place wasn’t full, so it was possible to get another room for Dom.   
  
There was no airconditioning and even with a fan on and the blinds and windows wide open, the heat was all consuming and difficult to cope with. When Dom dropped wearily on to his bed, though, his head was filled with images of naked, masked men and women frolicing, and the enticing sounds of anonymous sex that accompanied them lulled him to sleep with a smile on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

_“_ _Tell me what you want... I’ll give you anything you want...”_

_The blonde’s lips attached themselves to Matt’s before he could reply; not that he could form words beyond ‘naked’ and ‘fuck’, the way his head was swimming with arousal. She giggled coyly in his ear when he pulled the straps of her dress down her shoulders, the shift of her head giving him a view of the large mirror on the opposite wall, its reflection allowing him to watch the flimsy white garment sliding down her torso. Matt could see himself slouched on the sofa with the blonde straddling his lap, the white summer dress pooled around her waist offering a stark contrast to the black leather trousers and tight, black, long- sleeved top he had on. Her creamy back was fully exposed and he let his eyelids droop as her body undulated sinuously against him, his breathing quickening at the touch of her hands underneath his top._

_He wasn’t sure how he went from being on set filming the video for Neutron Star Collision to this. But then she raised his arms and held them against the couch to keep them away from her body, her bare round tits pressed against his chest as she kissed him lavishly, and all questions ebbed away._

_“What do you want, Matt?”_

_His eyes snapped open. She hadn’t stopped sucking him obediently, kneeling naked on the floor between his legs... how could she have spoken...? She raised her eyes to meet his, lush lips still locked around his cock._

_“What is it that you really want, Matt?”_

Matt groaned into his pillow, the reality before him dissipating and forming into a new one, where harsh sunlight hit his face and he was sweating profusely, the bed sheets sticking to his body. And not because he had been having brilliant sex. He rolled heavily onto his back and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, letting his forearm drop over them to block out the light. It was a weird dream. What _did_  he want? For starters, he would have liked the dream to go on until after he’d banged her into oblivion instead of ending prematurely and leaving him painfully hard...

He wasn’t sure about the blonde’s identity; she had felt familiar but unknown at the same time and, frankly, he had no desire to dwell on the labyrinth-like ways of his unconscious mind this early in the day. He wriggled a little and stretched, the erection straining against his boxers rubbing against the much-too-light bed sheet. Either way, it had been unbelievably hot.

 

Matt had just gotten out of the shower when someone - who could only be Dom - knocked on the door. Opening it with only a fluffy towel wrapped around his waist, he peeked out.

“Ready?” The cheerful blond drummer was tapping his thighs, dressed in his black skinnies and one of his many printed white t-shirts. He also had his aviators on, though there weren’t any windows in the hallway.

“Up so early, Dom?” Matt smirked, Dom only smiling wider and flashing his perfect white teeth. “I’ll be down in five.”

They had breakfast together, Matt filling Dom in a bit more about the rendezvous, or at least the little he knew about it, before heading out into the scorching heat. They‘d had no chance to notice it the night before due to the lateness of their arrival, but their hotel, although far from luxurious, was situated in an almost paradisical spot. Under the bridge that they had crossed the previous night ran a river with clear waters, which Matt had discovered in the meantime to be the natural border between Portugal and Spain. The surrounding valley was like a beautiful painting of pasture and cottages, the serpentine traces of roads visible on the green hills connecting one small village to another. It was a breathtaking scene, the rural region an obvious choice for anyone who’d like to retreat to an idyllic destination, seeking a relaxing holiday spot. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Dom asked as they strolled to the car park side by side. The brunet had his head bent over his phone, texting. “We’re supposed to meet someone there? Party’s not till tomorrow night, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah...” Matt replied absent-mindedly, looking for the GPS coordinates of the gathering he had saved. “I wanna see where it is first. Dunno why they didn’t give us an address.” They both stared out at the lush landscape, as if the location would suddenly spring out at them.

“Nic’s gonna be there, is he?”

“Think so, yeah.”

“We should ring him, see when he’s arriving and if he wants to hang out.” Dom smiled lewdly to himself. “Maybe he’s got company, too...”

“For fuck’s sake...” Matt muttered, rolling his eyes and shoving his sunglasses on his face. Dom followed him into the rented BMW.

“Was only wondering...”

They inserted the GPS coordinates and were instantly guided to the same road they’d taken the previous night. Across the bridge and back to Spain, Matt drove for a few minutes along narrow local roads, the only traffic being a farmer on foot here and there who carried a basket, until a sign in Spanish welcomed them to Arbo. The stone houses in the village were charming, quite a few of them appearing to have undergone restoration work, and even the streets were mostly cobblestones. In a small square in front of a church, several older men sat on a bench playing cards; a group of children, playing in a front yard in swimming trunks, waved at the car as they went by.

The village seemed old, conservative and the least likely setting for an orgy you could imagine.

“You know what, this place reminds me a bit of Como.”

Matt thought the same, but he kept it to himself, more interested in how there didn’t seem to be a road leading to the exact location the coordinates pointed to. He ended up stopping the car, looking out to his right and across Dom, to where the place  _should_  be, on a small hill behind some houses. It was frustrating that the view was restricted by the surrounding buildings, not to mention the tall trees. He could just about make out the ancient stone walls of a large structure, through a stand of beeches.

“Has to be up there, come on.”

Hopping out of the BMW, Matt walked a few metres up and down the sidewalk, attempting to obtain a clearer view. The effort proved useless and he was already returning to the car, determined to find another way to reach the concealed building, when Dom called out.

“Why don’t we ask her?” The drummer was already walking towards a lady carrying a couple of shopping bags a little ahead. “Hello there,” he addressed the Spanish woman himself with a smile. “Do you speak English?”

The old woman, clad in black from head to toe, stopped as Dom reached her, but she held tighter to her grocery bags and, judging by her suspicious frown, it was obvious she hadn’t understood a word.

“Um, scusi...” Matt quickly joined them, removing his shades and trying to remember the right words. “Buongiorno...?”

“In Spain, you speak Spanish, Matt. Not Italian.”

Dom’s words dripped with mockery and Matt glared petulantly at him, though he was still kicking himself inside, a slight flush staining his cheeks at yet another embarrassing demonstration of his complete inability with languages. He didn’t let that thwart him, though, gesticulating expansively and pointing to the small hill, trying to convey what he wanted the best he could. The woman’s face lit with understanding and she put her bags on the ground to point at the stone structure.

“Ah, muy bien, muy bien! Buscáis la Igrexa de la Virxe do Livramiento?”

“What’s that?” Matt could tell she knew exactly which building it was and he bubbled with anxiety. The woman repeated it again, and then again, now smiling, but Matt kept shaking his head and after a few tries it also became apparent to her that they wouldn’t be able to get across the language barrier without further help.

“Ven aquí, chico!” She called out to a young man who was standing outside what looked like a small tavern with a beer in his hand, observing them. He was very tanned, wearing baggy jeans and a checked shirt. “Hablas inglés?”

The man nodded and then looked at Matt and Dom, who he then approached with a curious smile, shielding his eyes from the sun as the pair smiled politely back. “Hi, can I help you?”

“Hi, yes. Thank you,” Matt breathed out, swiping at his sweaty forehead. “We were wondering what that building up there is? And how you get to it? Is there a road?”

“There?” The local pointed, looking a little surprised. “The hill?”

“Yeah, yeah, right there.”

“It is Igrexa de la Virxe do Livramiento. It is, how you say, a church?”

Dom’s jaw dropped and he exchanged a look with Matt, who was displaying remarkable coolness. It had to be a joke.

“A church? An actual Catholic church?” Matt questioned.

“Yes. But has no mass for many years, is closed.”

“And how d’you get there?”

The man told them all they needed to know and at the simple inquiry about their interest in the old building, when there were many other, grander churches in the area, the two friends replied that they were taking photographs and were curious. Nobody asked why they didn’t have a camera with them.

After perusing the area for a little longer and finding the narrow dirt track that led directly to a rusty gate, which in turn gave access to the church grounds, they decided to go back to the hotel, the early afternoon heat simply too much for the Englishmen to bear. They also realised as they drove back that the church was more visible from further away; they could actually see the top of the bell tower rising above the surrounding trees.

They weren’t hungry, the weather more conducive to light sandwiches and cold drinks, so they installed themselves in lounge chairs by the pool at the back of the hotel, a fine view of the green valley before them. They had tried to spot the church from there, without success, which hadn’t stopped Matt from using the zoom function on his iPhone’s camera to try and detect it anyway, leaving Dom to sip on his second mojito.

“Are you sure it’s there, Matt?” Dom asked quietly after awhile. The idea that such an event could take place in a church was bizarre, to say the least. He didn’t exactly believe in the wrath of God, but still...

Matt, who was still holding the iPhone in front of him, slowly turned the device in Dom’s direction, his face serious behind the shades he was sporting, and snapped a picture of the shirtless drummer. “Of course it’s there, that’s what the coordinates say, where else would it be?”

Dom shrugged. “Yes, obviously. Where else would an orgy take place if not in a church?”

Matt chuckled and put the phone down at last, stretching out on the lounge chair before turning his head to face Dom with a wicked smirk. “It’s quite fitting, isn’t it? Just think of the debauchery that went on in there for hundreds of years. You know, priests and nuns are always up to no good. Maybe that’s why it was closed down.”

Dom could agree with that. “I’d fuck a nun.”

“You’d fuck a priest.”

“Yes, I would. Sadly, my lack of priest fuckage thus far has left a gaping hole in my  _repertoire_ ,” he drawled in his best French accent. “Maybe I can finally scratch that off my list tomorrow.” He rubbed at his chin contemplatively.

“I’ll be sure to send all men of the cloth your way, then.” Matt tipped his head back against the chair, adjusting his shades.

“You can keep one for yourself if you like. I owe you. Plus I’m not that selfish and I know you’re not that altruistic.”

“Not being altruistic, I’m just not interested.”

“What if it was a bishop?” Dom grinned at him.

Matt giggled. “Nah, status means nothing to me. Couldn’t tempt me if it were the Pope.”

“Bloody hell, Matt, that’s revolting. I wouldn’t shag the Pope to save my life.”

Matt burst into hysterical high-pitched laughter at the tone of disgust in his voice, Dom joining in. The couple sitting at a table under a large yellow umbrella nearby shot them a long, disapproving look. When the laughter subsided, Matt cleared his throat and began shifting around on the lounge chair again, looking for a more comfortable position. Dom took another sip of his mojito, looking thoughtful.

“You’ve thought about it?” He asked.

“About what?”

“If it’s an all male party.”

Matt halted his fidgeting for a moment and lay back down calmly. He hadn’t given much thought to who would actually be there, he had been far more tempted by the whole idea, curious what the vibe would be. But he’d automatically assumed it would be a gathering composed equally of both men and women.

“Nah. Nic would’ve invited you, then, not me. He knows you’ve got no standards, you just need a hole to put your dick in.”

“Oi, easy there, wanker.”

“Just so you know, I haven’t told them you’re coming yet.”

Dom bit his tongue, sensing Matt’s smugness as the singer stretched languidly. “Wasn’t joking, though. What if he wants to drag you over to the dark side? You know Nic’s well dodgy himself.”

“That’s fucking ridiculous and you can give up on trying to wind me up, alright?”

He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Dom’s scenario turned out to be true, to be honest, but he wasn’t bothered. The idea was to go in with an open mind and have a blast, wasn’t it? Even if it involved something as farfetched as Dom was suggesting. He’d had his experiences in the past, anyway, a few brushes, literally, with other guys (including Dom a couple of times when they’d been pissed out of their minds), but he’d quit the ambiguous ‘activities’ after the ‘Origin’ tour, unlike the drummer.

“If Anderson were here he’d already be plotting a day out,” Dom lifted his chin towards the river below, “then coming up to us like,  _‘Hey lads, I’ve got a brilliant plan for tomorrow – let’s go rafting!’_ “ Dom mimicked their tour manager whenever he proposed one of his adventurous schemes.

Matt laughed. “Where does he come up with some of that stuff? I reckon Tom’s to blame. You know I don’t trust that sneaky little fucker sometimes, I swear he’s just looking for an excuse to film us doing embarrassing shit. Makes us look ridiculous!”

“I never look ridiculous doing anything. You, on the other hand...” Dom turned to Matt with a grin, his shoulders shaking as he tried to contain his giggles.

“Oh, fuck off.”

Dom let out a gurgle of laughter then. “Glad we’ve got him,” he continued. “Anderson.”

“Yeah, keeps things interesting on tour,” Matt yawned. “It’s tough out there.”

Dom nodded. “Touring’s never boring, though.”  

Matt snorted. “I’m going to remind you of what you just said next time we’re stuck in the tour bus in the States, on our way to some gig in the Midwest.”

“That’s a small price to pay.”

Things could get pretty dark when they were jammed together for days on end in a tour bus in the middle of nowhere; but at the same time, it could be the catalyst for memorable moments, too. Where would Chris’s epic Pedro ‘tache have come from, if not from arsing about on the bus? And how many brilliant riffs had Matt come up with when he was trapped inside with no other distractions?

“You know you’ve got a problem, don’t you, Dom?”

The drummer turned to Matt in momentary confusion, but he realised what he’d meant as soon as his eyes landed on his band mate.

“Why is enjoying what I do for a living a ‘problem’? You’d like it better if I told you I’m sick of you, touring is shit and I can’t stand this life anymore?”

Matt rolled his eyes. “Bellend. You know what I mean. It’s this... this fucking addiction to the road. What’s it going to be like next year when we’re on a break? You gotta have something else besides that.”

“A farm?” Dom smirked and Matt showed him the middle finger, no longer bothering to reply to taunts about that particular topic. “You’re just like me, you just won’t admit it. You  _and_  Chris. The tour is always the priority for you two.”

Matt paused and looked away. “Maybe it is now. But maybe it won’t be one day.”

“I’ve been hearing you say that every single day for the past ten years.”

Through girlfriends, five studio albums, changing record labels, leaving England to settle in other countries, countless fights, personal problems, deaths in the family... the band and the tour had always come first. Although Dom would concede that lately Matt had been more vocal about the need to focus on his personal life, claiming he constantly neglected it. It was unsurprising, given the turmoil he’d been through in the past year; it was also unsurprising if Dom held his own firm belief that Matt just couldn’t bear the thought of being alone.

“You think I’m taking the piss,” Matt continued, “and then one day I’ll tell you I need a break and then we’ll see how you react.”

Dom shrugged, not bothering to remind Matt of all the times in the past the singer had announced in the most dramatic fashion that he couldn’t do it anymore, that he wanted to quit. “You can’t live without it, Matt. Why do you think you’re here?”

“Eh?”

“Here. This.” Dom opened his arms wide to encompass their surroundings. “Why did you come here, what do you want from this? Have you thought of that?”

A shiver ran down Matt’s spine as he recalled the voice in his dream that morning. “It’s just a fucking party to let off some steam, have some fun. Why the fuck are you making such a big deal out of this now?”

“I’m not making a big deal out of it,” Dom shrugged nonchalantly. “You’ve bagged a Hollywood star and you could be in London with her right now, but you sneaked away for a fucking sex party instead.”

“Your point?” This was starting to irritate Matt. What Dom was saying and the infuriatingly calm way he saying it. 

“It’s a way of life, Matt. And no matter what you may say, you’re not ready to let go of it.”

 

***

 

They had moved to Matt’s room after a healthy dinner of grilled fish and salad. The red wine from the local vineyard had been an excellent choice, as was the Port and the sparkling red wine that followed. It was a full moon, the sky clear and the light spilling into the bedroom, and the two band mates switched the bottle of home made liquor they had purchased at the bar downstairs back and forth between them. They drank in silence until they finished it and Matt was left to play with the cork.

 

Dom had removed his t-shirt, tossing in onto the bed, and stood on the balcony smoking, taking in the view of the valley at night, a mix of pleasant drowsiness brought on by the alcohol and lethargy caused by the heat taking him over. When he turned around, he felt his head spin, which surprised him, though it probably shouldn’t; they hadn’t done much the whole day except drink. He leaned back against the railing for support, elbows resting on top of it, his eyes falling on Matt. The singer was sitting Indian style on the vintage settee, staring forward in perfect stillness, as if he'd been hypnotised. If he was as pissed as Dom, then he was sure disguising it well.

“Alright?”

For a moment Dom thought Matt hadn’t heard him but then the singer spoke.

“It’s like I’m always waiting for all this to be over. Everything. I’m not going back to painting and decorating, I know that much, but... I need something else to rely on for when it all goes tits up. When I stop and think about it, I can’t believe we got this far, it’s fucking surreal, d’you know what I mean? I don’t want it to end, but it’s not gonna last. I’m enjoying the ride, but I don’t know how much longer it can go on, Dom. I’m not good at anything else. I don’t have kids and don’t know if I ever will... When this is all over I need… I need there to be something waiting for me, I need there to be something else for my life to be about. I need -“ He shook his head. “Or I’ll go off the deep end.”

Dom swallowed, sobering up momentarily at the raw emotion in Matt’s voice, drunken rambling or not.

“It’s this, Matt, it’s always been this,” he responded softly. “We’ve been to hell and back, the three of us, and we’re still together. And if it’s up to me, and you know Chris agrees, it will always be this. We can always play together, even if it’s not in a stadium, but some dump of a London club. No matter how the band does from now on, no matter if no one buys one of our records ever again, this is what we do. This is  _us_.” Matt’s gaze was downcast at this. “And let me tell you,” Dom continued, “we’re fucking good at it, too.”

“You’re willing to go on like this forever, Dom? Even if we turn into pathetic old dicks who should’ve known when to stop?” His eyes met Dom’s with an intensity that surprised the drummer.

“Aren’t you?” Dom smiled. “As long as we’re having fun and still enjoy it.”

After a few seconds, Matt nodded pensively and then returned the smile. “Forever.”

Dom was the first to look away, out into the night, his throat dry. If it was due to the alcohol, the heat or the turn the conversation had taken, he couldn’t tell.

Providing reassurance - that had always been his role in the band, hadn’t it? A touch of Matt’s chaotic genius, a sprinkle of Chris’s calm and logic and then Dom to tie it all together. They had perfect chemistry, always had. He was comfortable with his role, both in and out of the studio. Supporting Chris when another child was born and he doubted his ability to cope with the separation; supporting Matt when it all began to get too much and he felt the weight of the world on his slim shoulders. And the truth was that they had both been there for him when it mattered most, too. Like in 2004, when the band was more successful than ever and Dom’s world was unexpectedly turned upside down. Ironically, it was then that he realised Muse could go on forever.

A soft giggle broke the silence that had fallen and Dom turned around again. Matt had his head tipped back, his knees now raised up to his chest, one arm wrapped around them.

“Fuck me, I wish Anderson were here,” Matt said as he rubbed his eyes with his free hand. “He’d keep us busy and entertained. Keep things shallow... even if it is by going rafting.”

Dom grinned, hands groping for a steadier hold of the handrail, eyelids drooping. “Is that your subtle way of saying that I bore you?”

Matt giggled again. “You know I’m bad at subtle, I’d say it straight to your face if I thought that... ”

He never would, though, at least not while being honest, as it was never boring with Dom. It was rarer to be alone with him these days, there was always someone else around, but when it happened, the banter and familiarity were the same as they had always been. Possibly better, as after so many years they knew each other like the backs of their own hands. With the unpredictable and nomadic life they led - a life that, despite all his protests, Matt knew he wouldn’t swap for anything - it was truly a comfort.

“Fucking hell,” Matt rubbed his eyes again, fearing he was about to get all soppy, for which he’d be endlessly teased. “I need some fucking entertainment, something proper. Entertain me, Dom,” he whined.

The drummer sniggered. “Very well.” He pushed himself away from the balcony and stood in front of Matt, legs spread and hands on hips, an impish grin dancing on his face. Tackling Matt seemed like the most brilliant idea in the world at that moment, and the brunet wouldn’t even see it coming. “Tell me what you want.”

The drawled words resounded oddly in Matt’s head. They were the same that had been whispered to him in his dream that morning, and as he dropped his perplexed gaze from Dom’s shirtless figure, brain rattling, his eyes landed on an antique mirror on the opposite wall. The expanse of Dom’s bare back was shown in the reflection, his black skinnies riding low on his hips, and Matt’s heart hammered violently in his chest at the unmistakable feeling of  _déjà-vu._

“What I... want...” Matt wondered aloud.

Dom sensed the shift in mood right away and cocked his head to the side. Matt was breathing harder, he could tell, and when his gaze returned to Dom, there was a glint in his eyes which hadn’t been there five seconds earlier. The blond knew what it meant, the nature of the thoughts running through Matt’s mind when he got that look in his eye. Bemused as he was, he still stepped closer. His will to attack Matt had slipped to half what it had been, though, and then Matt unfolded his legs, his previously bent up knees no longer acting as a barrier between them, and Dom was disarmed. Matt was looking up at him, half curious, half unsure. And at that moment, the most natural thing for Dom to do seemed to be to join Matt on the couch. On his lap. He straddled him, one knee on each side of the singer, and perched comfortably on his thighs, facing him. The blue eyes were now fixed on some point behind Dom and the drummer glanced back over his own shoulder, one hand shooting out to the wooden arm of the settee when he realised his balance was more precarious than it seemed. There was nothing there but the wall and a mirror that hung there.

He turned to Matt again with a smile. “What is it that you’re thinking?”

Matt stared back at him, shaking his head almost imperceptibly and Dom decided to follow his gut feeling, experimentally closing the distance between them, unblinking. Their lips touched for a brief moment and then he slowly pulled back, never breaking eye contact with Matt, who hadn’t flinched.

“Is this proper entertainment for you, Matt?” Dom whispered.

The brunet blinked and glanced back at the mirror before meeting Dom’s gaze once again. The drummer seemed amused. Matt was the one to reach out this time, pressing his mouth against Dom’s, the blond responding by gently pushing forward, Matt leaning back until his head rested on the top of the upholstered settee. They exchanged a few chaste, light kisses, lips moving tentatively until Dom parted his mouth and let the tip of his tongue nudge Matt’s upper lip, poking inside his mouth slightly. Matt tasted so sweet, like the golden coloured liquor they had consumed... Their mouths were sliding over each other’s before he knew it, tongues tasting, tangling and then exploring greedily until they were both out of breath and Dom pulled away. Matt was staring at him with flushed cheeks, heavy lidded eyes and moist parted lips.  _Shit_.

He took a hand to the back of Matt’s head, grabbing him by the hair, and he crashed their lips together again, this time coaxing a moan from the singer. Matt’s hands were instantly in blond hair, nimble fingers twisting the silky strands, the pace increasing as they devoured each other; hot, alcohol-tainted breaths ghosting over slick lips and skin. 

Grabbing Matt’s wrists, Dom removed his hands from his head, pinning them to the back of the settee, and Matt groaned as the drummer shifted on his lap and their chests collided. He pulled his mouth from Dom’s with a small popping sound and hurried to look for the image in the mirror over the drummer’s shoulder, mesmerized by the reflection of the two of them. Dom’s head was tilted to the side, the tip of his tongue lingering below his ear, Matt shuddering at the feeling of the blond’s nose softly brushing his skin as he moved lower. Dom's tongue flattened on the patch of skin over Matt's pulse point for a stroke and the slow, deliberate motion of the wet muscle made the brunet's eyes squeeze shut involuntarily.

All too suddenly, he was aware of Dom’s bodyweight on his lap, of the heat he radiated, of the way Dom’s hips were shallowly rocking against him.

“You taste so fucking sweet...”

The drummer’s sultry voice in his ear forced Matt to open his eyes again, watching in the mirror Dom’s left hand letting go of his wrist. The hand rested on his waist before straying to the front of Matt’s trousers, causing him to suck in a breath. In his mind, a vivid image formed - the head of the blonde in his dream bobbing between his legs - and a hot stinging in his lower abdomen made his cock twitch. _Jesus_.

“Wait.” His hand shot out to seize Dom’s. What the fuck were they doing? “S-stop, wait.”

“Why?” Dom insolently rocked his hips, drawing another sharp intake of breath from Matt. His jeans were so tight that if he didn’t do  _something_  soon, he was going to shout out from the pain. Matt must have been suffering, too, judging by the bulge in his trousers. “Don’t lie, I can feel you...”

Matt felt the heat rising in his neck and his jaw tightened; but he was simply too far gone at that point to protest. He loosened his grip on Dom, the other man’s fingers immediately reaching for his zipper. When Dom rubbed the heel of his hand down his cock, Matt’s forehead fell forward to rest against Dom’s clammy shoulder, his hand clutching tightly around his bicep.

“Fuck...”

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Dom sighed, massaging him through the cloth. He searched for Matt’s face, placing a trail of quick kisses along his jaw until he reached his lips, catching the breathless groan when he pulled Matt’s cock out of his boxers and started stroking him.

Matt’s hand shakily opening his trousers and wrapping around him in return, they were soon wanking each other without reservation, the singer’s head lolling against the back of the settee, eyes rolling back. He didn’t care to watch anymore; he was deaf to all the grunts and sighs. There was nothing but the burning heat, the fit of Dom’s hand around his cock, the pressure of his thumb on the head shooting tingles through his whole body. And then Dom leaned forward with a gasped, “ _Come here,_ ” and he caught Matt’s mouth at the same time he grabbed both their erections in one hand. And he finished them off together.

For the seconds that followed, there was no buzzing, no musical notes fluttering around in Matt’s head; just soothing silence.


	3. Chapter 3

****  
  
Matt’s hand moved of its own accord to scratch at the back of his head, his hair damp and scalp itching. Sweating again. He rolled over and bumped into something solid, which complained. He scooted away and opened his eyes at the delightful surprise and... ah, shit, it was just Dom.  
  
As his mind slowly began to function, memories of the previous night came back to him. Out of nowhere, it had all turned to weirdness, to what Matt would consider the very definition of a bad idea. Sure, he’d been pissed; but not smashed to the point of having no control over his own actions. By the time he had registered what was happening, it was too late. It  _had_ been a very satisfying wanking session, though, he had to admit as he observed the drummer sprawled next to him with his face hidden in his pillow. And despite his throbbing head and the predictable hangover from hell, it was reassuring to Matt that he still felt so incredibly light and free.   
  
He couldn’t really remember getting to bed and he felt silly for needing to wriggle a little to confirm he still had a layer of clothing between his bum and the bedsheets. Raising the sheet slightly from where it fell at waist level, he ventured a glance at Dom as well. Both still covered. Not that he'd expected anything else, however...  
  
“Hmmm... was that your elbow connecting with my ribs...?” Came a sleepy murmur near Matt.  
  
The singer leaned on his side, pouting slightly. “Dunno, but there’s going to be something connecting with your face if you’re not up and out of my room in the next thirty seconds. The fuck you doing in my bed?”  
  
Dom turned his face to Matt, a mocking smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, eyes still closed. “You’re hurting my feelings, Matt... How could you forget?”  
  
“Get out of my bed, you tit. No wonder I’m sweating like a pig, with you literally breathing down my neck. Christ!” He got up himself, padding to the bathroom in desperate need of a cold shower. Before he smacked Dom - the cunning bastard who ate, drank and breathed sex.   
  
“So you finally admit I make you hot?”  
  
Matt banged the door shut with a tad more hostility than required, Dom’s soft laughter following him. Once locked in the privacy of the bathroom, though, the front man couldn’t help but smile to himself.   
  


***

  
  
They decided to go fishing after a chat with the affable lady who owned the hotel and ended up spending the whole day by the river with a few six-packs of beer and some snacks, just bantering back and forth and having a laugh. That they didn’t catch any fish went almost unnoticed by both of them.   
  
They hadn’t crossed paths with anyone, tourist or local, that struck them as being in the area for the same reasons they were, and they had an inkling that the residents would be nothing short of sickened and horrified if they knew what was about to go on right under their noses.   
  
Nic had already informed Matt via text how it was all set; the password would be sent later that night.   
  
“Password,” Dom had snorted, after Matt had put the phone down. “Like the Kubrick film.”  
  
“Bollocks, that one was.”   
  
“As usual, the sophistication of subtlety escapes you," Dom grinned. “You wanna be Cruise or Kidman?”   
  
Matt gave him a two-fingered salute, but then chuckled. “Maybe I was just invited to play the piano. Blindfolded. But please don't make me be Cruise the Scientology Psycho.”  
  
There was a package waiting for them at the hotel reception when they returned, a large box, which they immediately guessed contained their attire for the evening, sent by Nic. They ran upstairs and into Matt’s room, almost giggling with excitement and elbowing each other in a tussle to be the one to open the box. The singer’s eyes glinted as he pulled out two long, black hooded cloaks, while Dom beamed at the sight of the masks resting at the bottom, two simple black pieces outlined in sequins that were designed to cover the upper half of the face and finished just above the nose. They'd seen more elaborate masks at the parties they'd thrown over the years, the Venetian or the Japanese springing to mind, but this was exhilarating nonetheless. Dom couldn’t resist putting one on, adjusting it over his face, and when he turned to Matt looking for a reaction, he saw the brunet was already donning a hooded cloak, the tip of his pink tongue darting out of the corner of his mouth as he struggled with the ribbon at the neck.   
  
They observed each other with interest, taking in each other's accouterments until their eyes met. And then broke into sly cackles.  
  


***

  
  
“Overture?” Matt read Nic’s text message, scoffing. “That’s the password.”  
  
The password came exactly one hour before the party was scheduled to start.   
  
Again in the singer’s room, the two friends stared out the window, trying to spot any shenanigans, or at least a sign of life, at the distant spot they had identified as the hill where the church was located. Dom wore all black, skinny jeans and dress shirt, and Matt all white, trousers and button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It had been specified in the invitation that Matt was to wear white, while his guest would have to be clad in black, but apart from the contrasting colour of their garments and the necessity of a cloak and a mask, no other demands had been made regarding their outfits. Matt had opted to go for a clean-shaven look (regretting not having had a haircut, as he checked himself in the elegant antique mirror) but Dom kept the casual stubble he’d been sporting.   
  
At nine forty they went downstairs, each carrying a cloak with a mask hidden in its folds.   
  
Across the river into Spain and towards Arbo, they quickly reached the rusty gate they had seen the previous day on top of the small hill. But unlike before, this time it was open, welcoming them into the church grounds. Lingering for a moment in the BMW at the small church’s entrance, they studied the very ancient looking staircase that led to the imposing main doors, which seemed securely shut, and the high bell tower. The stone walls appeared almost medieval and they guessed the building was probably several hundred years old at least.   
  
Matt took the car around the structure and at the back they found an area near a cemetery which had been turned into a car park for the night; there were dozens of vehicles there, most of them clearly luxury models. Hopping out of the car and putting the black cloaks and masks on, they walked along the edge of the hill, the breeze billowing their cloaks behind them. The view down into the valley was exquisite.   
  
“So which way to go now?” Dom stopped for a moment, looking around with his hands on his hips when they reached the building.   
  
But Matt kept walking and quickly found a side door with a small window carved into the stone above in the shape of a star; dim yellowish light flickered behind it.  
  
“Has to be here,” Matt breathed when Dom joined him. He knocked on the heavily decorated metal door.  
  
The scuffing of feet on the other side reached them, before the voice of a woman came through.  
  
“Buenas noches, señores.”  
  
“Good evening,” Matt replied to the greeting, waiting for the inevitable question. There was only silence. “You um, want the password, yeah?”  
  
“If you must.”   
  
“Overture.”  
  
The door scraped open and an old, hunched woman with a crocheted shawl over her shoulders and grey hair in a bun bowed to the two friends. Locking the door again after they walked in and paying no more attention to the two men as they surveyed their surroundings, she sat on a small stool in the corner and resumed what Matt and Dom presumed was her activity of the evening, knitting.   
  
Exchanging a look underneath the black masks and hoods and feeling oddly misplaced for a minute, the two Englishmen decided to focus on the many small candles placed on the floor. They seemed to form a path towards the interior of the building; the path they were obviously supposed to take. It was slightly unnerving to see no one else there. Why did it seem like they were late, although the clock in the car had said otherwise?   
  
The chilly air inside overtook their senses as they walked, the two friends unable to avoid the shivers running through their bodies despite the overwhelming heat during the day. A male voice not far away suddenly reached their ears, the words unfortunately indecipherable with the echo, and they exchanged yet another look. Soon they reached an open door at the end of the trail marked by candlelight - they were in the centre of the small church.   
  
The appearance of abandonment and decline from the outside was deceptive; inside, the stone walls and floor were clean, the ornate, golden altar gleamed, the dark wood pews seemed recently built and the chandeliers suspended from the high ceiling provided dim but adequate light. The carved figures of saints in niches in the walls were also pristine and, together with the images depicted in the stained glass windows, they seemed to act as silent, judgemental observers.  
  
And then there was the group of people clad in black cloaks, facing the altar in an open circle.   
  
A bulky man (a guard?) was situated close to the side doorway to the nave where Matt and Dom were standing. He had a mask on himself and after giving a curt but polite nod of the head towards the two Englishmen, he stomped his feet, military style, and everyone assembled suddenly turned, the air filled with the sound of cloaks whooshing. There were dozens of people there, forming a semi-circle two, perhaps three rows deep. Tall, short, male, female, some skinnier, others larger - everyone wore similar masks and long, black hooded cloaks, and they all bowed to the new arrivals, Matt and Dom bowing back. A section of the group parted then, making room for them, and the ‘guard’ extended an arm indicating they should join the congregation through the aisle beside them.   
  
Everyone’s eyes were on the pair as they walked side by side with timid steps at first, then more confidently. Despite the dim lighting, it only took two seconds for Matt to realise that everyone wore black beneath their cloaks - except him. His stomach lurched apprehensively.  
  
Discreetly absorbed by the group, the two friends were finally privy to the scene in front of the altar that had enraptured everyone’s attention before their arrival.   
  
“Fuck. Me,” Dom mouthed at Matt’s side.   
  
A woman was tied spreadeagled, hands and feet, to an upright diagonal wooden cross; save for the blindfold covering her eyes, she was completely naked. Strands of long brown hair fell over her shoulders and back and her breasts jutted proudly out, her amazingly fit body sheened with sweat.   
  
A masked man was standing near her, and although he had his cloak on, it was clear the black piece was all he wore. Despite their proximity, only when he moved did they notice the whip he held. He circled his prey a few times, the woman’s chest rising and falling more rapidly at the obvious realisation he was perusing her. He finally came to a stop behind her. And whipped her, hard.   
  
The crack of the whip hitting her flesh, echoing loudly against the church's bare stone walls, made Matt flinch, but she didn’t let out a sound. Whipped again, and then again, it was only at the fourth strike that the woman cried out, a piercing sound that cut through them. When the man came in front of her, Matt discreetly elbowed Dom, who visibly swallowed, both noticing the same thing - the small beads of blood which had dripped from the whip to the floor.   
  
Resuming his ministrations, the man struck the bound beauty on the chest, a deep red mark instantly etched across her tanned skin, and Dom nearly jumped from the combination of her scream and Matt’s fingernails digging painfully into his wrist. They watched in fascination as the large man threw the whip and his cloak aside, revealing a hairy body and a very hard cock. He reached his hand between her legs, her previous squeals of pain turning into moans of pleasure as he worked her pussy and then untied her from the wooden cross, the woman immediately slumping to her knees. Gripping her by the hair, he held her still to shove his cock into her mouth, while her hands clambered to his thighs to support herself. The man thrust hard in and out a few times, making her gag at first but then she began to suck at him in earnest, until he pushed her away and forced her onto her hands and knees. She bent submissively and he penetrated her ruthlessly until they were both spent in a heap on the cold stone floor.   
  
Matt let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He’d been left on edge at the initial violence and even now, as he watched the two of them getting up from the floor, embracing and smiling, he felt his clothes sticking to his damp skin. He was also hard as a rock.   
  
“When’s the last time we saw something this hardcore?” Dom whispered at his side. The blond’s face was shadowed by his hood, but Matt could still make out his grey eyes behind the mask, dark and intense.   
  
People were removing the saltire and sweeping the floor and there seemed to be some hushed conversations taking place. Mostly, though, it was rather quiet, anxiety and anticipation filling the air, as if the main event were still to come.   
  
Matt took in the ornate golden sacristy and the sacrarium, and stared at the small figure of Christ on the cross on the altar surveying all. It had been awhile since he had been to a ceremony in a church, the last time probably some wedding in Italy, and he’d never have guessed that the next time would be for something of this nature. It disturbed him slightly, that witnessing these sorts of activities in such a place didn’t bother him in the slightest.   
  
“You think they do volunteers?” Dom asked, when a new item was brought out - a large bed without a headboard, made up with only a white sheet which hung down the sides. It seemed tremendously heavy from the way a pair of broad-shouldered men carried it, and it was placed in the centre of the clear area between the participants and the altar. It reminded Matt of a sacrificial bier.   
  
“To handcuff or to be handcuffed?” Matt observed, noticing the two chains dangling from the end of the bed closer to them.   
  
For his first time there, he would be perfectly content to just hang around and watch. Though if all the women looked like the one who had been whipped and mercilessly fucked, perhaps he’d have to reassess his position.  
  
The quietness returned as a slighter man slid from the middle of the group to take centre stage. Pulling his hood down, he looked straight at Matt and Dom, who recognised him instantly even with the mask. Nic Cester.  
  
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he began, addressing the crowd in his unmistakable Australian accent. “I hope you’re all having a good time, I certainly am. As you all know, we have a new member to our community.” Everyone looked at Matt, who continued to stare at Nic. “I’m sure he will fit right in and I have no doubts  _everyone_  will want to give him a very warm welcome...”   
  
The crowd around Matt parted, a hand pulling Dom aside as well, and the singer realised with a jolt that he was expected to go up front. Surely they didn’t want him to make a speech...? He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the Australian, who suddenly had the most mischievous smirk on his face. Matt was starting to think  _someone_  had conveniently forgotten to tell him something.  
  
Nearly tripping on a raised flagstone, Matt walked towards the Jet front man, if not a little awkwardly. Wearing a hooded cloak and a mask in a church after watching an exhibition of BDSM by members of a club that seemed to get off on questionable rituals - and now expected to do who knew what with a load of strangers - Matt suddenly felt a little ridiculous, not to mention somewhat apprehensive. But then Nic pulled Matt’s hood down and after cupping his face in his hands, pressed a chaste kiss to the singer’s lips.  
  
“What’s going on?” Matt hissed urgently. “I’m going to kill you, Cester!”  
  
He turned Matt so the blue-eyed man faced the crowd and then leaned against him as if to kiss his cheek, but spoke softly in his ear instead. “You’re going to thank me for the rest of your life. Chill out and just go with the flow.”  
  
 _Go with the flow?_  What the hell was that supposed to mean? Nic had barely left his side to rejoin the crowd when another figure stepped up. A smaller one, barefoot, long red hair peeking from under the hood. She pulled it down, big green eyes sparkling behind the mask, and smiled up at Matt. He took a long look at her, head to toe. He could see her sheer, black lacy dress and the small nipples that pushed against the material. She reached out to untie the ribbon of his cloak, pushing it over his shoulders until it dropped to the stone floor and he couldn’t help but steal a quick glance in Dom’s direction. The drummer was leaning to the side, whispering something to a person with blonde hair next to him when he caught Matt’s eye. It appeared he'd already made a lady friend...  
  
The redhead had let her own cloak plunge to the floor around her feet and Matt bit his lip as his eyes roamed over her perky tits and curvy body. She lifted her hands to rest them on his chest, her fingers boldly scraping at his nipples through his white button down shirt, and she smiled up at him, a naughty little smile.   
  
He swallowed, finding himself hesitating at the undeniable invitation. Maybe it wasn’t so unexpected, he’d felt it before, after all - guilt. A series of images flashed through his mind, all of his time off in recent months. But then contrasting memories from the year before were added; and finally earlier moments on tour sneaked their way in.   
  
The smiley redhead cocked her head to one side, as if sensing his conflict, and she ran a red fingernail down his skin, from his collarbone to the centre of his chest, where it was caught by the first done up button of his white shirt. But Matt met her gaze evenly.   
  
Well. It would just be rude to turn down her kind invitation, wouldn’t it?   
  
She steered him backwards to the bed, where they sat, and began to slowly remove each other’s clothes, black and white fabric intermingling on the stone floor. And finally, she kissed him.   
  
Matt was no stranger to having sex in a room full of people, though it wasn’t exactly a common occurrence these days, but he'd never been in a situation where he was the centre of everyone’s attention as he ravished a woman. And it was a fucking  _huge_  turn on. This was probably the closest he would ever get to the one fantasy he knew he’d never be able to fulfil - doing it on stage in front of thousands, in front of Muse's own audience.  
  
When they were both undressed, hands touching nude skin only, the redhead reached for Matt’s mask. He grabbed her wrists.  
  
“You first,” he said.  
  
“I can’t take it off,” she said half-apologetically, a hint of a Scandinavian accent noticeable in her words. “And you can’t leave it on.”  
  
Matt didn’t argue, but when she made him stand from the bed to face the dozens of mysterious strangers and removed his mask, for the first time that evening Matt felt truly exposed and a tiny prickle of self-consciousness assailed him.   
  
She placed a final kiss on his lips and then backed away with a grin, leaving him standing by himself in utter bafflement as she was swallowed by the crowd. Should he go after her? At that moment, another female, an Asian with short, sleek black hair, advanced. Matt quirked an eyebrow with interest as he caught sight of the leathery get-up underneath her cloak. She was decidedly more aggressive than her predecessor and after striding over to him, she looped an assertive arm around his neck to pull his head down to hers, her small mouth eager for his.  
  
From the corner of his eye he spotted yet another figure stepping forward: a very tall, athletic man with curly brown hair. He only had the mask on; no cloak. Momentarily giving up on trying to lure the Asian bird to the bed, Matt nearly froze when the guy stopped beside them and, without asking, dipped down, his lips coming in contact with the side of Matt’s neck.  _Oh,_ _fuck_.  
  
If either person felt him tense up, they obviously didn’t care. The Asian girl was still all over him and the man had now placed himself behind Matt; a large hand landed on his hip and the motion was followed by a delicate kiss to the back of his neck. Instinctively glancing over, the singer observed the crowd - it was obvious everyone was waiting with bated breath for more. The girl snaked an arm around his flank and, after giving him a twisted little smile, lifted her hand and brought it down hard, slapping Matt’s bottom.  
  
“Cheeky bitch,” he hissed. She grinned in reply.   
  
The three bodies were soon flush against each other in a sensual dance as they touched, with Matt in the middle of the masked couple. The man’s stubble grazed his skin from behind, as he showered him with kisses across his neck and shoulders, and Matt could feel the man’s cock hardening against him, pushing into his lower back. A small hand, hers, squeezed his arse cheek again, hard, and Matt’s eyes widened in shock - but not at her actions. There was another hand, a larger one, reaching between his legs.   
  
A bold finger was trailing up his inner thigh, leaving a moist trail on his skin. It made Matt’s knees quiver as it travelled upwards and his heart was racing uncontrollably by the time it touched him intimately between his cheeks. Up and down the crevice of his arse it moved, teasingly, the man’s knuckles rubbing on his flesh. A warm fluid dripped down his lower back without warning, flowing directly to the divide of his buttocks; it cleared the path for the finger to follow, sliding with ease on the lubricated skin. And then it stopped at his entrance.  
  
“Oh,  _fuck_...”  
  
Matt’s forehead fell to the shorter woman’s shoulder when the probing finger prodded and pushed inside, his heart skipping a beat.   
  
There was a distant awareness of his hair being stroked by one of the woman’s hands, the other sliding on his slippery skin as she groped his buttock, squeezing and releasing repeatedly. But all of it came to him as if he were a spectator, not a participant. He felt overloaded with sensation, caused by a finger alone, which was seemingly managing to alight every nerve ending in his body. The man’s free arm held Matt tight around the waist from behind, the palm of his hand burning as it landed flat to grasp his protruding hipbone, and Matt’s breathing hitched, his stomach fluttering when the finger twisted inside him and curled.   
  
A second finger joined the first, slowly stretching him, the obscene slurping noises as the woman sucked on his neck nearly stifling the man’s gentle voice in his ear.  
  
“You are  _magnifique_ , so tight... I wish it could be me and not him...”   
  
Matt couldn’t even be bothered to wonder at the meaning behind the man’s words. The French accent coupled with the knowing manner in which his fingers rubbed and stroked, finding his prostate and stimulating him to the limit, rendered Matt’s brain useless. He’d bite down on the woman's shoulder to contain any embarrassing moans, he’d kiss her so her mouth would swallow his gasps... Wrapping one of her hands around his cock when he couldn’t take it anymore, Matt made her stroke up and down and surrendered to them both, cleaving to their combined touch.   
  
But then the fingers slid out of him, her body was separating from his and the man was spinning him around, open mouthed as if to devour Matt whole. The singer responded without thought, light headed and with shaky knees. In a matter of seconds, he had been laid on his back on the bed and the tall French speaking man was holding his hands down next to his head, teasingly caressing the sensitive skin on the inside of his wrists with his thumbs. Matt stifled a gasp when a long, wet stroke of tongue ran up the inside of his wrist to the heel of his hand. A loud metallic click was heard - his arm had been shackled. The masked man repeated the action with Matt’s other arm, the singer’s chest rising and falling faster as he allowed himself to be handcuffed to the bed.   
  
But then like the redhead had done before, he left.  
  
Abandoned with a raging hard on to face the golden, sacred altar, the crowd so near but out of sight behind him, Matt flexed his fingers and tugged on his bonds, testing their resistance. He was well tied down and clearly at the mercy of the entire club. Was this how the rest of the night would unfold? One member after the other having a taste of him? Was he going to be the evening’s plaything for everyone there?   
  
There was some sort of commotion within the crowd, a mass of whispering reaching his ears, and Matt let out a frustrated sigh. Why did they have to place him in a position where he couldn’t see anyone? He arched his back off the bed, scooting up the mattress so that he could let his head dangle back over the edge and perhaps catch a glimpse of something, even if it was upside down.   
  
His eyes instantly met a grey pair behind a mask, unexpectedly close.   
  
Dom was right behind him, staring down at his bandmate with a cheeky grin.   
  
“Hello, there.”


	4. Chapter 4

  
Mirroring the Frenchman’s previous actions, Dom’s hands reached for Matt’s shackled wrists, holding them as he bent over him, the face obscured by the hood and the black mask drawing closer to the singer’s until their lips joined, upside down.  
  
“Dom... what the fuck are you doing...?” Matt’s heart was hammering in his chest as the drummer pulled back, his blond head hovering above his.  
  
“It appears I’ve been given the honour of completing your initiation.”  
  
Matt was stunned into silence. It was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him. Or rather, over a particular part of his anatomy. Wordlessly, he watched his band mate climbing onto the bed to set himself on his hands and knees above his naked figure, the cloak hanging like a curtain around the two friends. His grey eyes glowed, twinkling like a predator’s in the shadows cast by his mask and hood.  
  
“Wait,” Matt blurted the second Dom made to lean forward, the undone top buttons of his black shirt revealing his golden skin and light chest hair. “What the fuck. Are you  _doing_?” He repeated, despite it being painfully obvious what the answer was. “Why you? And why didn’t you say ‘no’, you prick?!” And then his eyes narrowed suspiciously as another idea crossed his mind. “You didn’t actually volunteer for this,  _did_ you?”  
  
“Keep your voice down.” Dom glanced quickly at the crowd surrounding them. “Of course I didn’t volunteer. Don’t you think I'd rather fuck one of those hot birds than your skinny arse?” He said defensively.  
  
Dom would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit to finding Matt disgustingly alluring at times, but getting biblically closer to his childhood friend hadn’t exactly crossed his mind as he pondered the evening's possibilities; not when there were so many other enticing options on offer. His role had clearly been determined long before by the powers that be, though, and, sexual adventurer that he was, he had no problem with filling it.  
  
“I've just been told I'm supposed to do this, Matt, and it's obvious they’d boot me out if I refused. It's just to get the night started; they said we can get it on with whoever we want next.”  
  
Which didn’t change the fact that they had to shag in the first place, Matt fumed. Face burning and nude body too exposed, even the clasps around his wrists next to his head seemed to have become tighter and more uncomfortable. What a mistake to let Dom tag along for the party; most likely he’d been selected precisely because he had been Matt’s choice of guest. Ludicrous that with so many willing hot women, he was stuck with a man, and not just any man – but with  _Dom_.  
  
Sure, they’d engaged in sexual experimentation with each other before; nothing too extreme, the previous night about as far as they'd ever gone. But there had been no audience and that made all the difference. Some things, if they had to happen, were supposed to happen in  _private_. Nobody needed to know that he and Dom could bring each other off; not a bunch of strangers, not Nic, not anyone. And what if word got out about their dodgy escapade? The secrecy, the masks, the password... all of a sudden, none of it seemed quite so pretentiously over the top to Matt anymore.  
  
It was fucking disturbing the number of fans who seemed to get off on the idea of him and Dom going at it, and Matt reluctantly admitted it was probably not that shocking that the people there would fancy such a scenario as well – it was just too fucked up and perverse to pass over, wasn’t it?  
  
He would be banned from the society and never invited back again if he refused to do it, of course. And unfortunately, after the sneak peak he’d gotten, he couldn’t truthfully claim he wasn’t interested in becoming a member.  
  
“They’re staring at us, aren't they?” He finally spoke.  
  
“Like horny slags backstage after a gig,” Dom drawled, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “They wanna watch us, so you up for it or not?”  
  
Fuck it. Matt could do this. It was just a performance, sharing the stage with Dom, that was all there was to it.  
  
“Alright, do it, get on with it.” Matt nodded his head once. “Keep it shallow. And don’t hurt me!”   
  
“I’ll be a perfect gentleman...” Dom promised as he knelt back with a lecherously evil grin, flicking the cloak behind him with a dramatic swish.  
  
Matt watched the blond undressing above him and swallowed as his flat stomach was bared, the black skinnies hanging low on his hips, lower than usual, and exposing the lines of his abdomen that led straight to the bulge at his crotch. Was he seriously about to have sex with Dom in a medieval church, with a load of masked strangers watching?  
  
Once his trousers were off, the drummer buried his face in Matt’s neck, nuzzling, his hands running up and down his flanks. If it was only for show or because the blond felt like it, there was no way to tell, but Matt found it wholly unnecessary regardless. He lay there motionless as Dom shifted on the bed and arranged their limbs, prepared him with lube he’d gotten who knew where; doing whatever the hell he wanted, as per usual. It had almost turned into a cold, out-of-body experience for Matt, the usually self-assured front man feeling his confidence slipping away at the screaming awareness of unknown eyes watching them, prying beyond his comforts levels. He scrunched his face in uneasiness when Dom pushed inside him; he’d forgotten how awkward it was to have something  _there_. His arms were starting to ache, his thighs burning with the effort of keeping his legs up and he sent a pointed look Dom’s way when the drummer thrust a little too hard for his liking.  
  
Dom lowered his head next to Matt’s, his mouth at his ear. “You’re making us look as boring as turtles mating.”  
  
Heat rose to Matt’s cheeks, a mix of outrage, fury and humiliation. “Excuse me if I’d rather be fucking someone else,” he snapped in a hiss.  
  
“This isn’t working,” Dom said, gently pulling out of him with a slightly annoyed expression.  
  
“Well spotted,” Matt snarled.  
  
“You said you were okay with it.” Dom stared at him for a moment from behind the mask before speaking again. “Tell me what to do, Matt.”  
  
“You know what to do. Don’t have to tell you,” he muttered in reply, teeth gritted.  
  
“Then what the fuck’s the problem?”  
  
There was no reply and Dom looked at the crowd again, who couldn’t have heard a word but seemed intrigued by their exchange. He glanced back down at his band mate, who had his head turned to the side and was struggling to catch a glimpse of the spectators.  
  
If the presence of an audience had become a problem, then Dom would just have to make Matt forget about them.  
  
Matt’s nostrils were suddenly invaded by Dom’s scent when the blond’s body lowered upon his, a hand resting on his cheek to turn Matt’s gaze his way. Placing a small kiss on the side of his gaping mouth, Dom captured it afterwards with his own, not lingering there for long, though. His warm breath was blowing against one bound wrist, his stubble tickling Matt’s skin; then a tongue darted out, flattening over the inside of the wrist for a languid stroke, the tip curling upwards as the contact was lost. Matt’s pulse was racing.  
  
“This ‘s nice...” Dom whispered, his hair brushing against the side of Matt’s face.  
  
Matt swallowed thickly, his hands balling into fists in their confinement when Dom started sliding down his body with his head bowed, resting his chin on the centre of his chest. Sprawled on top of Matt, he reached for a nipple with a fingertip, massaging it, and then lavishly licked at it, the continuous stimulation hardening it. The other nipple received the same treatment but this time Dom sucked it in between his lips after using his tongue, Matt watching open mouthed as they puckered around the dark nub.  
  
He was tingling inside as Dom continued his downward path, fingers tracing Matt’s ribs, lingering above his lower abdomen before settling on his hips and pinning him to the mattress. He was breathing  _just_ above his crotch but then the tip of his tongue touched the sensitive fair skin in the hollow of a pointy hip and Matt was twitching convulsively.  
  
“Stop fucking around...” Matt's voice was hoarse and almost unrecognisable.  
  
Matt was struck with how difficult to breathe it had become, the air thick and the atmosphere stifling. They were face to face again and in Dom's grey eyes Matt saw the reflection of his own: pupils wide, irises blackened by arousal. At last a small amount of relief arrived, Dom palming his half-hard cock as he shot him a cheeky, white-toothed grin.  
  
Pumping him steadily for awhile, Dom let go to reach beneath, Matt’s thighs parting readily and one knee bending up as if with a mind of its own. They kissed slowly, deeply, as the blond moved between his spread legs, picking up an easy rhythm as he penetrated him again, the gentle rocking of his hips more comfortable for Matt than before.  
  
“Better now?” Dom smiled.  
  
Matt just nodded and let his head drop to the side, eyes heavy-lidded, where he gaze was met by several audience members. He’d completely forgotten they were being observed and it was a relief to realise he no longer cared. He’d also been oblivious to the fact that the masked strangers in cloaks weren’t just leering obscurely from the semi-darkness of the church anymore – they had tightened the semi-circle around him and Dom, standing very close to the bed in front of the altar where he’d been tied down.  
  
Trying to read the faces he could catch from that angle, Matt’s gaze halted on a black man in one of the further rows. He couldn’t see him fully, but it was clear by the rhythmic movement of his arm that he was jerking off, and the stranger's eyes seemed to glint lasciviously under the hood and mask as they met Matt’s. The pumping of his hand was coordinated with Dom’s grinding and for a split second, in Matt’s mind, it was that black man he was being intimate with, it was his body above his own, inside him, touching him, whispering in his ear as his hot hand fisted his cock.  
  
Matt squeezed his eyes shut, seeing white at Dom’s shift of position.  
  
“Alright?”  
  
The husky voice in his ear, charged with sex, was like another burst of flame consuming him and when he looked up at Dom, he found his band mate studying the audience with a provocative smirk.  
  
“Dom... are they looking at us, Dom?” Matt couldn’t help it, the words coming out in urgent gasps. “Tell me what’s going on, Dom, I wanna know.”  
  
“They want us. They want us so badly, all of them.” Biting softly at his white neck, Dom greedily accepted the better access he was offered when Matt rolled his head to the side again, the grey eyes behind the black mask fixed on the spectators. “Shit, can you see them? We’re making them so hot, so hard.”  
  
Matt was hit with a surge of electricity, an energy that streamed wildly through his veins. He wanted to face them, too, he wanted to look back at everyone, stare them in the eyes. Own and be the puppeteer of every single one of them, just like he did on stage.  
  
“Let me watch.” Restlessness took him over and the sound of clinking metal filled the air when he twisted his hands in the shackles. “Let me go, Dom, I want to fucking look at them, I can’t see anyone like this. Take these off my wrists!”  
  
Dom hesitated.  
  
“They want a show, we’ll give them a fucking show. You and I.”  
  
It was all it took for the blond to be persuaded.  
  
Unlocking the cuffs around Matt’s wrists caused a certain turmoil and swift, questioning turns of the head among the crowd, but Dom was quick to set the restraints back in place as soon as Matt had assumed the new position.  
  
The singer had twisted underneath Dom until he was on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, his cock hard against the white bedsheet. He had barely registered how Dom had him bound again, as mesmerised as he was. If the society members had been a fairly homogeneous mass of black clad people when the night began, he now felt as though he could see to the heart of each individual. Some had lost their cloaks (and the majority of their clothing), there were couples here and there snogging, there were others pleasuring themselves; but every single one of them was enraptured with the two men tangled on the bed. Matt recognised the look of pure want on the sweaty, flushed faces – they all wanted him. In reality, though, they were all  _his_. They could bind him down to that fucking bed and have whoever they desired screwing him senseless – but  _he_ would always be the one in control.  
  
He raised himself half onto his knees, his backside higher, and immediately murmurs were heard, earning a smug smirk from Matt. He glanced over his shoulder at Dom, his band mate grinning at the smouldering expression plastered on his face and settling himself between his legs again right away. Poking his nose into the damp strands of brown hair at the nape of Matt’s neck, the blond clung onto the slim hips before kissing his way down Matt’s back. He then inched up, slowly, taking his time as his tongue ran over every vertebrae, saliva mixing with Matt’s perspiration, the singer arching his back as each bump and hollow of his spine was thoroughly tended to.  
  
“For fuck’s sake, Dom...” Matt hissed. “Fucking get on with it...”  
  
A single, small kiss on his inner thigh and Matt’s head was whipping around, the heated look in the blue eyes meeting Dom’s feral grin. Splaying his hands on top of each white buttock, the blond fastened his mouth on Matt’s lower back, his hot breath making the singer bite his lip harshly, almost drawing blood. There was an unnervingly slow trail of open mouthed, wet kisses down the pale skin and then a flicker of Dom’s tongue, reaching to the centre of the parted flesh.  
  
“D-Dom...”  
  
Matt gasped aloud in a haze of blind lust, shamelessly yearning for Dom to go lower, to go deeper. But the drummer was slithering up instead, slinging a strong arm around his waist before pushing him down to the bed with the weight of his own body. Their bodies fitted together as his cock rubbed insistently against Matt’s rear.  
  
“Look at them...” Dom breathed in Matt’s ear, cheeks touching as they eyed the feverish faces around them. “'s like being on stage...”  
  
Matt didn't reply; not that Dom needed him to, the curve of his back and the way his hips rocked in a tantalising sway telling enough.  
  
“God, you want me to fuck you.” He was so hard that the head of his cock breached his band mate’s buttocks and brushed his entrance when he humped him. “You want me to fuck you so badly, Matt, I know you do... Say it. Tell me how much you want it, Matt, I wanna hear it.”  
  
The trapped front man burst into delirious giggles, the notion apparently preposterous to him, and Dom quickly glanced at the bonds on his wrists, noting the reddish marks already forming on the skin. The chains were short, but not excessively so. He let go of Matt and flipped him over, the brunet landing on his back with wide eyes, one wrist tightly crossed over the other above his head.  
  
“Where were we?” Dom’s voice was smooth as silk as he grabbed Matt’s wrists, if only to accentuate his position of power as he nudged his legs apart and knelt between them. “Say it.”  
  
Matt lifted his head from the bed until their lips were brushing. “Fuck,” he smirked, “off.”  
  
Dom’s cock throbbed, his body unbearably tense, and he didn’t know where he gathered the strength to watch motionless as the teasing cunt rested his head back on the mattress with an infuriatingly self-satisfied expression on his face. He was amusing himself at Dom’s expense, as per usual.  
  
“You have - “ He saw Matt opening his mouth to interrupt, but his hand shot to cover his pale throat threateningly. “- to be taught your place, Bellamy.”  
  
A drawn out moan vibrated through his fingers, Matt’s Adam’s apple bobbing under his hand. And Dom’s annoyance was quickly replaced by a rush of power and adrenalin, the realisation that Matt  _enjoyed_ the restraint hitting him, his skin tingling as he watched the singer’s head tip back on the mattress, his thin lips pursing tightly. It was an image so reminiscent of when they were playing live and his band-mate lost himself during a guitar riff that he couldn’t help wondering what would go through his mind next time they were on stage and Matt’s face contorted in exactly the same way.  
  
He was snapped out of his musing by Matt’s legs wrapping around his waist as effortlessly as if he did it all the time and Dom collapsed awkwardly on top of him, their sweaty bodies sliding against each other. It was all lust and longing in the blue eyes boring into Dom’s.  
  
“C’mon then, put it in me...” Matt croaked. “Put it in me and get it over with.”  
  
Dom needn’t be told twice. Grabbing his own cock, he gave it a few tugs before driving it into Matt again in a fluid motion, a high-pitched strangled noise bursting out of the brunet’s mouth and echoing around the stone walls of the church as he arched off the bed in response.  
  
“Oh  _God_ , Matt, yes...” Raising his head for a blissful moment, Dom caught sight of a severe-looking saint glaring down at him from a niche in the wall. He couldn’t have cared less and chuckled when he looked down at Matt, reminded of how he’d actually been forced to face the sacred altar the entire time.  
  
“Let’s do this fucking proper, Matt...” They moaned as their tongues wetly entwined in a mess of saliva, teeth scraping skin and sinking into flesh. “Show ‘em how it’s done for when I’m not around to tell them what gets you going...”  
  
Twisting on the mattress to try and catch sight of their audience, Matt exposed his throat to Dom again, the hidden veins and muscles pressing against his skin, and Dom’s head spun. His thrusts picked up speed, causing him to grunt with the effort and Matt to breathe in irregular gasps. He fucked him with abandon, harder and harder, determined to tear out a loud moan from his band mate with every motion of his hips.  
  
“Again...” Matt panted. “Again... again... Dom, I’m so close...”  
  
“Yeah? Hard like this?”  
  
“Yeah... oh, shit,  _yeah_...”  
  
“So good... we look so good fucking like this...”  
  
He intended for his hand to grip Matt’s cock, he honestly did, but instead it found a different path, slowly creeping its way to the pale, fascinating throat. He would do no more than place his hand there, Dom repeated to himself, revelling in Matt’s reaction, the other man’s mouth dropping open soundlessly, eyes rolling to the back of his head. It was obscene.  
  
“You kinky fucker...” Dom hissed upon feeling the other man’s hum of satisfaction against his hand. He had to do it. Forcing a rough kiss on Matt, he applied the smallest pressure with his fingers, thrusting harder into him. Matt whimpered. “Tied up, fucked by a man, getting off on being choked...”  
  
Matt’s face was twisted into pure pleasure, pouty lips pink and moist, his lashes long and dark laid against his cheeks. Squeezing again, Dom slammed into him at the same time, the slender body tensing and absorbing the impact of each snap of his hips. It was overwhelming, so overwhelming for Dom to know that someone trusted him this much – that Matt trusted him this much. And he acknowledged right then that this was the best shag he’d had in years.  
  
The weight of the drummer’s hand on Matt’s windpipe, restricting his air supply, was sending him into hysteria. Brain bombarded with lust, arousal, consuming need, a never ending need for pleasure, need to come, Matt questioned whether he really required oxygen at all. Restrained so tightly at arm and neck, thighs forced open by Dom’s body pounding into him so hard... it was like a one way route to his cock, feeding him pleasure and the need for more pleasure.  
  
He came. Pulled into a hurricane, tossed around, elation exploding from every pore, Matt almost blacked out, dizzy and light-headed, overwhelmed by heat and mind-blowing  _release_.  
  
Lungs burning as he gulped for air, Matt realised Dom’s body was resting half on top of him, half beside him, warm and sticky, a hand on his hip. The pins and needles in his arms didn’t matter, nor the sting across his back and down his thighs; that he couldn’t feel his fingers was irrelevant.   
  
The sounds of a buzzing crowd gradually became clearer to Matt, and it dawned on him that their masked audience was closing in. He looked up, to the ceiling, adorned with religious images, to the multi-coloured stained glass windows depicting angels and saints. The ecstasy, slowly leaking out of his system, and the transcendent nature of his environs made him feel as though he was still caught in some sort of reverie. And at that moment, although religious he was not, the euphoria he felt was something outright spiritual.  
  
Dom squeezed his hip gently and he felt unfamiliar hands on his wrists, unlocking the cuffs.  
  
Let them take him wherever they wanted to; he was ready.


	5. Epilogue

   
Matt rubbed his face on the velvety green surface of the sofa and sniffed. There was a slightly mouldy odour that he hadn’t noticed before. Tightening his hold around the slim waist of his companion on the couch, he pressed his chest against her back, sniffing her lovely red hair instead. He was curious about her nationality; maybe Danish if he had to venture a guess.  
   
“What do you want?”  
   
He froze and opened his eyes, somewhat taken aback by the annoyance in her voice, but then relaxed when he realised she wasn’t addressing him but Nic, who came out of nowhere to stand next to them, a half empty bottle of liquor gripped in his hand.  
   
“Aww, come on love, give us a minute, will you?” Nic said.  
   
“Fine,” she answered, turning to Matt and planting a kiss on his mouth before rising to her feet. “Want him back in ten minutes.”  
   
“Don’t be selfish, darling,” Nic sat on the arm of the couch, watching her walk away to join a group of equally naked, yet masked, men and women who were sprawled on a lavish four poster bed, smoking.   
   
The Englishman rolled onto his back and looked up at Nic upside down to find a smirk on his face. He was no doubt amused at what Matt knew was the lazy, debauched grin on his own. He took the bottle that Nic offered him appreciatively, sitting up to take a sip, his head swaying dangerously. In the back of his mind something reminded him that he couldn’t exactly call a cab to take him back to the hotel but at the moment he couldn’t be arsed to think of alternatives.  
   
“Pity she won’t be around for much longer,” Nic motioned with his head to the redhead, who was now kissing another woman unashamedly, before turning to Matt, the singer cocking his head to the side, intrigued. “Royal blood. Husband chosen for her since birth and all that shit.”  
   
Matt curled his lip in revulsion. Evidently, European royal families hadn’t changed all that much. Pity indeed.

 

The luxuriously decorated large room in the church where the party had moved to after he and Dom were done in front of the altar was all rich velvet, shiny candlesticks, fancy couches and settees and four-poster beds; a piano stood in a corner and Matt recalled some banging on the keys earlier on that most certainly had not been caused by someone trying to play it. He was far too distracted at the time to give it proper attention, though.  
   
“Where’s Dom?”  
   
Nic laughed. “Last time I saw him he had his hands full. Difficult to recognise the two lucky ladies in the position they were.”  
   
Matt snickered and handed him the bottle back. “You’re the only one apart from me without the mask.” He noted.  
   
“We already know each other, it’s not a problem.” He took a sip. “But nobody’s about to risk getting recognised by someone who’s only here once. Which reminds me why I’m here,” his tone of voice changed and one big hand landed on Matt’s bare shoulder, shaking him playfully. “Congratulations are in order, mate! Fucking brilliant initiation! It’s been fucking ages since we had something that intense! Knew you wouldn’t disappoint!” He enthused, Matt letting his head drop to the back of the couch with a laugh. “You should’ve seen the reactions when you entered Dom's name as your guest!”  
   
“Fuck off! Thanks a lot for telling me I was supposed to shag my own guest, you cunt!”  
   
“Bugger, must’ve forgotten!” He smiled sheepishly. “And look who it is!”  
   
Matt barely had time to scoot aside, Nic tackling an unmasked, very drunk-looking Dom, both falling on the couch tussling, while Matt giggled and put his feet up on top of the coffee table which was full of empty bottles, glasses and ashtrays.

 

Dom gasped for breath as he laughed and then Nic planted a sloppy kiss on his mouth. “Back off, man.” Dom cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve got a reputation.”

 

“Just helping you to keep it, mate.”  
   
They erupted in laughter and then Nic sat on the floor while Dom stretched his legs, resting his calves on Matt’s legs, grinning at him sleazily.  
   
“So how was the redhead? Better than me?” Dom slurred, his eyes glinting. “Doubt it.” His dirty blond hair was drenched in sweat, strands sticking out in odd angles where the ribbon of the mask had been pressed against his head. “Wonder if you regret inviting him in instead of me, Nic.”  
   
“What I wonder is how you can keep your balance with a head that size.” The Australian teased.  
   
“’s called overcompensation.” Matt let his eyes trail over Dom’s cock, soft now, before moving upwards to meet his grey eyes. “No wonder he can get into those fucking tight trousers.”  
   
Nic laughed and reached out to high-five Matt, Dom simply rubbing his chest lazily, his eyes locked with Matt’s.

***

  
There was a thin line of light bursting in the horizon, the moon still visible in the sky when they left.

 

Driving back to the hotel was a trial, despite the short distance. Dom had been the one behind the steering wheel this time but Matt had persuaded him to stop at the bridge as they crossed the border between Spain and Portugal. They scuffed their way to the guardrail, giggling drunkenly as they looked below to the river, its waters not deep but running fast over the cobblestone.  
   
Sitting on the pavement, enjoying the sobering morning breeze, they watched the sunrise in silence, sharing a cigarette.  
   
They could only imagine what a right sight they were when they arrived to their cosy hotel, untidy hair and crumpled, half unbuttoned shirts. They were met with smiles at the reception desk though, uttering perhaps slightly overenthusiastic greetings before going upstairs.  
   
Matt fumbled in his pocket when they reached their rooms, searching for the key card he had placed there only two minutes before. He shoved it in the slot and the door clicked open, but he leaned his forehead on the door instead of stepping inside, sighing deeply for a moment. He spotted Dom having similar difficulties with his own key card when he glanced aside and the drummer returned the look.

 

It wasn’t a conscious decision to stride over to his band mate, to grab him by the elbow and step back again to his bedroom, Dom stumbling into Matt with a loopy grin as he was pulled strongly. Their mouths locked as if by magnetism, both exchanging feverish kisses in the hallway, harshly breathing through their noses as Matt pushed the door open again, impressed with his own coordination, and they toppled inside. Falling on the bed on top of each other, the two snogged and giggled until they came to a quiet, Matt collapsing on top of the blond.  
   
“What are you doing?” Dom smiled. Matt seemed to be sniffing him, the tip of his nose moving below his ear, to the hair at the back of his head that he could reach, back to his collarbone. “Pure sex. That’s what you’re smelling.”  
   
Matt was in a fit of giggles again but then he sighed contentedly.  
   
“I smell of you.”  
   
His fingers were absent-mindedly pulling on one side of Dom’s shirt so he could achieve a better view and satisfy the demands of his eyes. And after that he needed to undo the buttons in order to complete his task. He could almost see that nipple, but when he lifted his head to fulfil that sudden whim he’d just had, he was forced to rest it down again, unable to bear the weight. “Shit.”  
   
“Whatever you’re trying to do-”  
   
“What does it taste like..?” He scratched at the skin slowly with a finger, stubbornly puckering his lips. No, still too far away. It really was necessary to move his head closer.  
   
“You can do it later.”  
   
Later? Later when? If only they had the time. Flight to catch in the afternoon; London; Kate.  _Fuck_. He was so fucked. A headache was already setting in; he’d have to try and sleep it off in the trip. That was, if they managed to find transportation to the airport. He could barely recall where they were. “No time later, Dom…”  
   
“When, then?” Dom insisted.  
   
He thought hard, trying to visualise his schedule, their schedule, to remember arrangements. Everything seemed so blurry. But then the answer came to Matt. Less than a week now. “Manchester.”  
   
Dom grinned. “Only if you unzip my bodysuit...”  
 

***

  
The middle-aged lady swiped the key card and let herself in, quietly closing the door behind. The English guest had checked out late that morning, together with his friend, and as usual with that specific room the maids wouldn’t set foot inside until she gave them permission.  
   
The bed was made, which at first suggested he might have not slept there at all, but the duvet was not wrinkle-free which led to the conclusion that he had probably lied on top of the bedclothes for awhile; no more than an hour or two going by information from her staff. Pity.  
   
Walking across the room, her heels clicking on the floor, she stopped in front of the old mirror she had bought years ago in a street market. She frowned. Despite her best effort, she was not having a good hair day. She removed a small key out of her pocket and inserted it into a tiny opening in the mirror’s frame which was concealed by the intricate pattern. There was a click; she pulled the frame open, like the door of a cabinet   
   
The cavity in the wall was not very large, after all it had originally been designed to work as a safe. She had found another purpose for it, though,  _far_  ore exciting purpose.  
   
Indeed it was a shame that this particular guest – and his handsome blond friend in the next room – had had such a short stay. They had certainly turned out to be the most interesting guests in there for a very long time.  
   
She had found him delightfully pretty the night he arrived, all blue eyes, pale skin and sweaty dark hair. And such a soft spoken manner and lovely British accent… A feast to the senses he was.  
   
And then she had watched the recording of the night before the last, the night his friend had spent there in his bed. She had almost gasped aloud when the bright-eyed gorgeous creature stared straight at the mirror from the settee where he sat while his friend kissed him; it was almost if h  _knew_.  
   
Reaching out to the hole in the wall, the woman pressed the button in the camera to stop the recording, removing the small disk inside which contained footage of the previous day. There wasn’t much hope for more fascinating material, considering the two men had spent most of the day out, the late time of their arrival and the state they were in. The party had obviously taken place somewhere else.  
   
But she was sure she would re-watch the images of that other night many, many times, both Englishmen giving her such an intense, private performance, unbeknownst to them. Kissing and touching and pleasuring each other, every gasp and moan captured by the camera behind the mirror.  
   
The way his blue eyes, glossy with arousal, gazed at the hidden lens on the other side of the mirror.  
   
Gazed at her.


End file.
